In the Shadow of Defeat
by Akarui KH
Summary: [Oneshot, AU] Power in excess would only cause chaos. He needed a way to dominate those he was giving the power to. And if pain was the fastest way to dominance, so be it. [Orga, Shani, Clotho and Azrael centric]


A/N – I am aware of the actual method used to keep druggies in check (Gamma Glipheptin, the drug), but I felt like experimenting with other ideas and this is what I came up with. I also play with the timeline a little, because the battle at ORB isn't the druggies' first fight in this (assume this is set sometime early in canon). Thus, this fic is **AU.** I'd also like to warn you for **dark themes** and **strong language. **And now that that's out of the way – enjoy.

Disclaimer: Gundam SEED isn't mine; I just like to play with it.

-In the Shadow of Defeat-

"Shani! You dumbass!" Orga shouted over Calamity's radio, "Are you trying to get us all killed out here?"

The Forbidden pilot's only response was crazed laughter, making Orga want to smash the crackling intercom. He was aggressive, sure, but Shani was just impossible. At least Clotho paid _some _attention to what was happening on the battlefield.

Orga's thinking was interrupted when a ZAFT mobile suit suddenly appeared before him, right in front of Calamity's cockpit. This was not good. The Calamity Gundam was designed for long-range attacks, not close combat – that was Forbidden's job. Shani's job. "Damn it…"

The ZAFT mobile suit fired, hitting dead-on. The inside of Calamity shook violently for a moment. Furious, Orga gave a beast-like snarl and slammed on the controls, forcing his Gundam forward. If he couldn't shoot it, he'd smash it - simple as that. It was nothing his partners would object to. They were just as hell-bent on victory as he was – it was one of the traits that the three pilots shared with their master.

Just as he felt impact, the mobile suit before him split in two. There was a minor explosion, creating just enough force to blow Calamity in a different direction. Orga saw a huge spiked ball on a thick black cord zooming past his windshield. That mace-like weapon could mean only one thing – Raider Gundam. Orga cursed under his breath. "Clotho!" he yelled, "What the hell was that?"

"Me saving your ass." Came the red-haired pilot's voice over the radio. Orga snorted. Saving him? He was lucky Clotho's actions hadn't gotten him killed! Not to say his own tactics weren't equal in recklessness - he would just rather put the blame on Shani and Clotho. It wasn't Orga's problem if they got in the way of his fighting and got hurt – it would be if he got in the way of theirs.

Suddenly, the radio on Calamity's dashboard began to crackle. The static was thicker than usual, and Orga almost had to strain to hear the speaker's voice over the popping and scratching.

"Pull back! All three of you!" shrieked a male voice over the heavy static, sounding somewhere between distressed and enraged, "Return to the ship immediately!"

It was impossible to mistake that voice for any other. It belonged to Muruta Azrael, the fanatical and ruthless leader of Blue Cosmos. It belonged to their master.

There were still a few ZAFT soldiers left. Orga was about to protest when he heard Clotho's voice over the intercom, "We aren't finished!" he said, "You can't tell us – "

"As a matter of fact I can." Azrael retorted, "And if you three don't come back to the ship right now, there'll be hell to pay."

Orga growled in annoyance, but told his comrades to obey. Shani and Clotho listened to him, at least. He was something like the leader of their dysfunctional trio, when Azrael wasn't in the picture. Actually – and it may have just been arrogance –he had a feeling that the other pilots would follow him before Azrael any day, given the right opportunity.

As he flew back towards the Earth Alliance vessel, he cracked a smirk at the thought. To be in control – it would be great. Orga lived for combat and victory, for adrenaline, for power. He knew somewhere that he would probably be an awful leader, and he honestly couldn't care less.

000

Azrael watched as Calamity, Forbidden and Raider approached his ship. Watching them fight had been almost painful, and for all the wrong reasons. Shani had been completely out of control, Clotho had been abusing the Raider like a child with a new toy, and Orga – Orga was just full of himself. It showed in the way he fought, as though it mattered not who was killed as long as he got to do the killing, and make himself look impressive all the while. What a fool.

But Azrael could fix that. He could fix any problems he encountered with the three. He could fix anything with _this._

In his hand, the Blue Cosmos leader clutched a palm-sized remote control. He turned it over and over, a grin seeping onto his face. It was such a simple object to look at, and yet, in his hands, it was a powerful weapon.

He heard footsteps and looked up to see Orga, Shani and Clotho all still in their flight suits, their helmets held casually under their arms. They looked so nonchalant – so naïve. He could fix that.

"We were told to report to the bridge, _sir._" Orga said brusquely, emphasizing the 'sir' mockingly, which earned him a smirk from each of the other two.

'Stupid, disrespectful brats…' Azrael thought. He could fix that, too. "So you were." He mused, sporting his typical smile, "Follow me." He slipped the remote into his sleeve so that the three pilots would not notice it and then left the bridge, heading for the pilots' bedroom. His three subordinates trailed after him, dogs following at their owner's heel.

When the reached the room, safely away from most of the crew, he closed the door behind him and turned to the three pilots, discreetly sliding the small remote back into the palm of his hand.

"Don't be so creepy." snorted Clotho, who was always more talkative than the other two, "What did you want us here for? Why couldn't you just tell us on the bridge?"

'If anyone on the ship saw this, I'd lose my position.' The blonde man said mentally, thinking better of speaking those words aloud. He laughed, just a little, and placed his thumb on one of the remote's buttons. "Didn't I tell you there'd be hell to pay?" He said, his voice dripping with manic glee. He took out the remote, revealing it to the three for just a second before he pushed the button.

There were three sudden howls of pain, and then each pilot dropped to the floor. Their bodies were shaking and squirming violently, ravaged by the excruciating pain he had brought them in an instant. Muruta Azrael only laughed.

000

Orga felt it instantaneously. Intense pain shot through his entire body, flowing like a deadly current to every extremity, every possible place. He screamed once and then fell to the floor, gripping his sides fiercely. He could not truly feel his body, he was numb and shapeless, just a mass of blazing fire and sharp, piercing knives. His body twisted up and quivered violently. All he knew in that moment was agony.

He could not think, his mind completely vacant. The closest he came to thought was just barely acknowledging the few things his senses could still take in. He was so numb that touch was irrelevant; there was nothing to feel but pain. He couldn't see, either, but whether it was because his eyes were shut or because he had been blinded, he could not be sure.

However, he could still hear things. Everything he heard was faint and far away, and he was unable to tell where the noises were coming from, but at least he _could _hear. Vague, distant sounds that seemed to be coming from another world, but they were still sounds.

Somewhere he could hear other voices groaning softly, as if they, too, were enduring the same harsh torment. He couldn't tell if there were two voices or four or eight, just that they were there.

Somewhere else, above the moaning, there was laughter. Broken, crazed laughter, but laughter nonetheless. It was hard to see what anyone would be laughing about now, but the sound persisted and when it finally died, Orga just barely caught the sound of a familiar voice.

000

Azrael grinned. He had done it. It worked, it had actually _worked. _The risks he had taken, the money he had invested, the time he had spent waiting – everything was worth it in the end. His project had been a success. He'd won the first battle.

He remembered when he'd first decided Blue Cosmos would use Biological CPUs. Prior to selecting soldiers for the role, he had spent days researching them. The candidates would receive surgical implants in their brains and glands. These would greatly improve their combat abilities, granting them better reflexes and more stamina than the average Natural. They also had an effect on the person's mind – their aggression level would increase immensely, and their sense of fear would be dulled. A Biological CPU was in every way a human weapon. It took a lot of reassuring for Azrael to convince himself that this would not be like employing Coordinators, and even then, it felt almost like he was betraying his own cause.

It still posed a problem with his soldiers, though. No Blue Cosmos member would opt for becoming an enhanced human. Even if he explained that they wouldn't be Coordinators, that the enhancement process was entirely different, would they understand? Of course not. No, it would be better if he kept his new soldiers – his new weapons – a secret. He didn't believe he had to lead the organization with honesty. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. All he needed to do was find some people crazy enough to be willing to undergo the transformation – and that was where the prisoners came in.

Everyone had heard the news – three 17-year-olds, convicted as serial killers and sentenced to death. The media had refused to disclose their names or photographs. It was then that Azrael had an idea. Those three – they would be perfect. He needed someone unknown. He needed someone unafraid. And most importantly, he needed someone who had nothing left to lose.

He didn't remember the prison well – but he remembered the prisoners. It had bothered him that the three killers seemed so indifferent to being bailed out of jail, being given a second chance at life – only to be used as Blue Cosmos' guinea pigs. Even wild shouts of protest would be an improvement over those icy, apathetic stares, ringed with a fear they may never know again.

000

When the mind-numbing pain finally released its hold on him, Orga found he had not moved from where he had first fallen. His body was still shaking a little. His breathing was very heavy, and he was drenched in sweat. How long had he been there, helpless, at the mercy of some unknown power? His blue-green eyes darted to where he knew there was a clock. He'd been wondering how many hours he'd spent in anguish when he saw that it had only been three minutes.

Three minutes. Not three hours – three minutes. "What…the hell…was that?" Clotho demanded, panting.

Orga shook his head. "Damned if I know." he growled. Shani was ignoring them both, as usual. The Forbidden pilot sat in the corner of the room, his knees clasped tightly to his chest. His eyes, one obscured by a veil of green hair, darted nervously around the room. He was twitching madly. Neither Orga nor Clotho had ever seen even Shani looking so dishevelled – or so crazed.

"He felt it too." Clotho snapped, his breathing still heavy, "As much as we did, if not worse. It's that old bastard fucking with our heads, damn him to –"

"Shut up, Clotho." said Orga irritably, though he knew his red-haired partner's words were probably true. What _was_ that, anyway? That unbearable pain… where had it come from?

There was a moment of tired, trembling silence, before Orga turned to the sound of a quiet, scratchy and quivering voice in the corner that said, "I saw it."

000

Azrael remembered very well the day he had negotiated the plan. He remembered sitting in an office, months before the operation, discussing his idea with a few old scientists (among them one named Dr. K. Limer, who appeared to be in charge) and surgeons. They hadn't liked his way of thinking. He hadn't liked them.

"That's not necessary," they told him, "And it would be too dangerous. Far too dangerous."

'Idiots', Azrael thought, 'It's _supposed _to be dangerous.' But out loud he said, "People, people, please. You're going to artificially enhance three criminals, turning them into human weapons, and you're telling me _my _idea is dangerous?"

"Such great power must be kept in check, wouldn't you say?" he continued, "Think of it as a precaution."

"But to do that to a living human…it's outrageous! It's…barbaric…" came the protest of one scientist. Azrael glared at him, his blue eyes narrowed dangerously. He stood up and slammed one hand on the desk.

"You dare call _me _barbaric? I saved those boys' lives!" he half-shouted, "They _chose _this path. They _want_ to become Biological CPUs for the military. And once they've gone through with it, are they really even human beings anymore? Well? Are they?"

The doctors all slunk back a little, save for the one who had first protested, and Limer, who said, "And if we do comply to your demands, where do you suggest we get this device?"

Azrael smirked and shook his head. "You do realize who you're speaking to, right?" he said evenly, "I'm the president of a major weapons conglomerate. My people have been designing this for some time now."

"You – what?" Limer looked taken aback. The others broke into whispered discussion, having known just who the blonde man was but apparently nothing about what his company was actually doing, which was just as well in Azrael's eyes.

"It's simple, really. Like a shock collar, in a way, only…more dramatic." he answered, grinning like a cat, "We can make it easily enough, but we need people like you to install it."

There was a thick, tension-filled silence. Azrael was the only one in the room who was truly relaxed, and he looked between the doctors with an air of smug satisfaction. He had already won.

"I hope you will do it," he mused, his voice carrying a devious edge, "After all, I do work with a lot of people at Blue Cosmos who might think your enhancing humans is…wrong. They knew nothing about it now, of course, but say I was angry…frustrated…and in my anger somehow 'let it slip'…"

Limer growled a bit while the others whispered amongst themselves. The blonde man caught his eye and smirked. "All right. Fine." said the scientist, sighing, "But only if you pay us well."

"Three million. Is that 'well'?" And right then, right there, he sealed his victory.

000

"Saw what?" Orga asked, turning to Shani, who was still curled up and still shaking.

"The pain." Replied the green-haired pilot in a voice barely louder than a whisper, his eyes darting about as if he were scanning the room to make sure they were alone, "I saw something in his hand, and, I think…he used that to cause the pain." It was the most either of the other pilots had ever heard Shani say at once.

"What'd it look like?" Orga asked with a frown. Who had caused it was obvious, it was a matter of the how and why.

"Didn't really get a good look at it." Shani murmured a reply, shaking his head, "But maybe…a remote."

Clotho snorted, casting a disdainful look at the green-haired pilot, who only curled into a tighter, safer ball. "Come on, Shani, a remote?" scoffed the Raider pilot, "That surgery didn't stop us being human, stupid, we don't turn on and off at the push of a button. Do you see anything on any one of us that makes you think he could do that with –"

"Cool it." Orga said heatedly, cutting him off, "How much do you think you know about this 'Biological CPU' crap, anyway?"

"Enough to know we're not –"

"You sure?" said the Calamity pilot, "How do we know this isn't about more than just making us stronger? How do we know they aren't hiding things from us?"

"They don't have to tell us everything." he added after a short pause, "We are, after all, nothing but weapons."

000

The day of the operation was probably less eventful for the pilots than for anyone else involved. Orga, Shani and Clotho each remembered the same one event – the paperwork. Signing their names for the final time, on documents asking for permission to make them less than nameless. To the public, announced dead, and to the military, classified as weapons. They would no longer exist, not to anyone but each other. Their lives were being completely erased – and here they were, agreeing to it.

There was the signing, and then there was nothing. Orga could vaguely recall a room that was blinding white all around, like a blank sheet of paper. He remembered a bed. He remembered doctors approaching him. After that, there was nothing.

No sight, no sound, no scents, tastes or feelings. Only the unknown, empty black of unconsciousness – an almost perfect representation of the void his life would soon become in the eyes of the world.

The same day, Azrael had insisted on coming to the lab. To supervise, he had told everyone. But he was not allowed to supervise. No one else could enter the operating rooms while the surgeries were taking place.

His people at the Azrael Conglomerate had done their part by developing the chips – one for each pilot, each a bit stronger than the last, to match with each of the three pilots receiving higher-level implants than the last. Now it was up to the scientists. All they had to do was put them in place by surgically inserting them in the spinal cord, near the base of the brain.

If the original operation succeeded, then he would have at his disposal three powerful weapons, like nothing his enemies could ever imagine. But it was his project that was most important.

Control was what he needed now. Power in excess would only cause chaos. He needed a way to dominate those he was giving the power to. The three were like wild dogs; they needed to be locked up in their cages, where they were helpless.

At the click of a button, the tiny computer chips would release a shockwave that would channel pain through the entire body. Pain would result in discipline, in subjugation. And if pain was the fastest way to dominance, so be it.

000

It took only a moment for the room to fall silent. Talking was getting the three nowhere, so they retreated to their usual hobbies. Shani tuned out the world with his music while Clotho drifted around the room playing a video game, as always.

Orga sat on his bunk, trying earnestly to concentrate on the book he held. Pain still lingered in his body like a wolf waiting to strike, and it unnerved him that he did not know where it had come from or where it was hiding. He didn't even know what it was, and had only one real hint, which had come from Shani's words. Shani, who was so locked up in his own world that Orga and even Clotho sometimes wondered if he was even experiencing the same reality.

Azrael was very likely still outside, as only a little over five minutes had passed. Something in Orga told him to go and ask him what had just taken place. He felt it was his right to know, as a person. But he was not a person anymore, he reminded himself, he was only a weapon now. Only a weapon, because he had chosen his life over his humanity.

As he heard the sound of footsteps retreating from outside the door, he felt for the first time in his life truly defeated – not by the physical agony he had experienced, but instead by the isolating feeling that followed, the feeling that came with knowing no one cared.

-End-


End file.
